Category: Living

Why does the faith of so many Christians waver? Why does their commitment run hot and cold?

A little of the blame rests on us preachers. For the past thirty years, we have feverishly responded to every person’s criticism of the church. Every time someone said they thought we were ugly, we smeared on more eye shadow hoping that would make them like us.

People said they didn’t like coming to churches that looked like churches so we built buildings that look like hotel lobbies attached to warehouses.

They said our sermons were too demanding and the preacher sounded angry, so we got rid of the pulpit and bought a three-legged stool and an iPad so we could just sit and talk about relevant stuff on Sundays.

The whole world sings the praises of Martin Luther King. This man, with dignity and poise, changed the face of America. His actions forced radical changes within our country, and did more for the fair treatment and honoring the civil rights of all Americans than just about any other individual.

If you want to force change, wouldn’t it make sense to follow his pattern? Especially if you are going to allude to his memory?

But, no. All these recent protestors, many who want to align their cause with his, don’t come close to protesting like he did.

Martin Luther King clearly articulated his cause. His passionate speeches ignited fires in the hearts of anyone who would listen. The only fires today’s protesters can ignite is when they are burning down somebody else’s car or business.

When Hillary Clinton conceded to Donald Trump, the collective sigh of relief from conservatives blew a wind of hope all across our nation. Not because so many of us feel that Mr. Trump is the last great hope for America, but because we believe that re-electing the radical liberal machine would have been the last nail in its coffin.

I must admit that this election took me by surprise. I fully expected the Democrat Express, fueled by propagandists posing as journalists, to glide into the station ahead of the Trump Train, loaded with all the baggage those same media elites kept piling on it.

While we never notice the process, our brains filter every word that we speak or hear, and adjusts our mind to comply with what it’s being told. If your brain hears “you dummy!” often enough, it assumes that it’s true, so it lowers your internal expectations to that level. And when you mess up, your mind scolds you for even thinking that you could get it right in the first place. You are a dummy, remember? And dummies always mess things up.

If you are one of those who mock that concept by saying something cute like “I’m gonna think myself seven feet tall and good looking,” then carry on. I won’t waste time trying to convince you.

But what we hear does influence us — especially if those words are spoken by someone important to us.

A surgeon can take your heart out of your chest, tinker with it a while, stick it back in, staple you up, and in a couple of days you’re back in your living room showing pictures to your friends on Facebook.

But no one can outsmart the wind.

We’ve sent men to the moon, we’ve grown corn in the desert, and we can turn our porch light on and off while cruising in the Caribbean.

Having listened to a few dozen folks take me to task because I said a third-party candidate won’t win the Presidential election come November, I thought I might elaborate a bit more on the subject since I still have a few inches of flesh that are unbruised.

If you want a third-party candidate to win, the first thing you must do is agree upon which one. Folks insist that a third candidate could beat both Clinton and Trump, but they each want us to rally around their guy. Unhappy conservative voters are tossing around a half-dozen names that they want us to vote for, but until they all unite behind one person, they’ll be screaming the same mantra every four years from now on — if we are still here and our country still stands. I start here because I see this as the largest hurdle to get over. Just between you and me, I don’t see it happening.

So, you aren’t going to vote for President? You can’t stomach either of the candidates, and your conscience won’t let you cast a ballot for either?

That’s certainly your right as an American citizen. And you’ll have plenty of company. Millions of Americans stay at home every election day for every reason under the sun. As a matter of fact, there will probably be more of you sitting at home than there will be those of us who will actually decide the future direction of our country by voting.

Like you, I wish we had better choices, but this is the bottom line: on January 20, 2017, barring some tragic catastrophe, either Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump will put his hand on the Bible and swear to uphold the Constitution as our next President. While it may be the first time in a long time that either of them has actually touched a Bible, it will still be one of those two. Like it or lump it, those are our choices. No write-in or third-party candidate is going to garner enough support to win a ticket for the self-guided White House tour that’s free every morning except Sunday and Monday — let alone become the official resident there. It will either be President Clinton or President Trump.

The pop of firecrackers and the explosion of light and color across the black sky mark the arrival of the fourth day of the month of July just as they have for past 239 years since John Hancock and his fellow rebels signed the Declaration of Independence. For me, the joy and glory that accompany this holiday are bit subdued this time around. The liberty that we celebrate has been redefined through the years, and its boundaries are significantly more confining than they were when I was a youth.

Israel’s enemy destroyed the beautiful temple that was Israel’s pride and joy. Years later, it was rebuilt and the young men cheered and danced in celebration. But when the old men walked through, they wept bitter tears because the new temple lacked the awe inspiring magnificence of the old. Gone were the soaring walls that glowed golden in the evening sun. The arches, the porches, the stunning views, all gone. The young men had never walked through the old temple so they had nothing to compare their present to. The old men, however, knew what had been lost. The shouts of the young and the cries of the old mingled together until the joy and the sadness became indistinguishable.

I love life. I really like living. One of the main reasons is that, as a child, my parents helped me understand that a life devoted to God would not only give meaning to life, but would take me through some pretty cool experiences. As I look back at fifty years of memories, I’ve got to acknowledge that they were right.

For most of my life, I’ve tried to stay close to God. I recognized His call in my teens, and I’ve prepared myself to serve. Measuring talent and skill, I fall somewhere in the middle of the pack. I’m not that great, but neither am I all that bad. I’ve learned to give it my best and realize that God takes over from there.

Over the years, my zeal has occasionally been dampened by a quiet conviction that slips in as I read scriptures that talk about sacrifice and suffering. To be honest, I don’t do either of those very well or very often.

The apostle Paul was certainly a colorful character. He didn’t hesitate to confront Peter or the Roman authorities when he thought they were wrong. By his own testimony, he traveled with caravans across desert places, encountering bandits and thieves along the way. Making tents with his hands made his living, yet when he visited the liberal free-thinking philosophers’ paradise on Mars Hill, he plunged right in the debate. And who could forget his voyage through the storm when he chided the seasoned sailors for not taking his advice, and then gave them instructions on how to save their lives?

Paul did not appear to struggle with self-esteem issues. He challenged those who thought he was a paper tiger, that he talked tough in his letters but was really a wimp, to just wait until his next visit to their town. He had no trouble giving advice and taking charge. He even (some say in his arrogance) went so far as to call the gospel “my gospel” (II Timothy 2:8).